


Always is to Joy Inclined

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindness, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire receives life-changing news and he and Enjolras have to learn to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always is to Joy Inclined

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Shakespeare: "Love to faults is always blind, always is to joy inclined."
> 
> I had actually set out writing this with the intention of it winding up much angstier than it ended up being but instead it wound up fluffy, which was very confusing for me because normally the [opposite happens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/942913). 
> 
> There is the literal briefest of NSFW moments towards the end.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies: I own nothing but my inevitable typos.

It started with Grantaire running into a table at the Musain.

“Are you drunk?” Enjolras asked him, without looking up from the papers in front of him. It wasn’t asked in a mean way, just sort of mildly curious, as if he already knew the answer.

Grantaire, who was mostly looking at the table as if trying to figure out when it landed in his path, frowned slightly. “I guess I must be,” he said reluctantly, though his head wasn’t swimming the way it normally did when he had been drinking to the point of running into inanimate objects, and he was 98% sure he had only had a single bottle of wine.

Enjolras glanced up at him. “No sex when you’re drunk,” he reminded him, eyes narrowed slightly.

Smiling sweetly, Grantaire said, “By the time you’re done with whatever it is you’re working on, I’m sure I’ll be sober. Or at this rate, dead.”

Though Enjolras huffed and rolled his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile slightly. He had been dating Grantaire for a little over a year now and as much as either of them hesitated to say it, given how tempestuous their relationship had previously been, they were both incredibly happy. Life was…well, about as perfect as it could be.

Perfect enough that an hour later when Grantaire “accidentally” stumbled into Enjolras’s lap, Enjolras actually gave up on the reading he was supposed to be doing and kissed Grantaire.

Perfect enough that they should have known it wasn’t going to last.

But soon stumbling into things that Grantaire appeared to have not noticed in his path became almost routine, and while he laughed about turning into Bossuet, it was more than that. And then one day when Grantaire was painting, he froze and turned to Enjolras, jar of paint in his hand. “Is this green or blue?” he asked in a strange voice. “I can’t…I can’t tell.”

They went to see the opthamologist the next day, and it was there they received the diagnosis: early stages of honeycomb macular dystrophy.

Grantaire was going blind.

A normal couple would have taken time together to discuss what this meant for their future, how they were going to handle it, hell, even their feelings, but Enjolras and Grantaire were hardly a normal couple. Which was why Enjolras immediately began treating this like a cause.

He did research, as much as he could. He bought Grantaire books on learning braille. He didn’t seem to notice that Grantaire began curling in on himself, withdrawing more, avoiding being in the same room as Enjolras, only half-heartedly studying braille. It got to the point where he wasn’t even painting anymore.

And it wasn’t until that point that Enjolras noticed. And Enjolras, of course, decided to do something about it.

Which was why Grantaire opened the apartment door at 8:30 on a Saturday to a man who introduced himself as an art instructor for the blind. Grantaire just stared at him for a few seconds and closed the door in his face.

He went to find Enjolras, who, predictably, was sitting at his desk, reading a book entitled, “Coping With Blindness in Adult Life”. Grantaire paused in the doorway. “There’s a man here to teach art to the blind,” he said in a strangled voice.

Enjolras glanced up. “I noticed you hadn’t been painting,” he said calmly. “I figured it must be getting difficult for you, so I wanted someone with which you could work before you lost all of your eyesight.”

“You figured?” Grantaire repeated, jaw clenched. “You _figured_? Did you ever even consider asking me what I wanted?”

Blinking, Enjolras started to speak, then blushed ever so slightly. “It isn’t as if you’ve been the most forthcoming these past few weeks,” he said defensively. “And you weren’t painting, and I know how much that means to you, and I…I was just trying to help.”

“Trying to help?” Grantaire shouted, entire body tense. “You have no idea what I’m going through, no clue what I need you to do for me!”

“Of course I don’t because you won’t tell me!” Enjolras was clearly trying to keep calm but was struggling with doing so. “All I’ve tried to do is help you, but you won’t open up and let me in! And I know things are hard, and they’re only going to get harder, but we can get through it together. And you can still paint if you want.”

Grantaire threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t give a fuck about painting!” he practically screamed, gripping the edge of the couch with both hands. “I’ve never given a fuck about painting. It’s just something to do, the only thing I’m good at! But it doesn’t _matter_.”

Enjolras stared at him, completely lost. “Then…what…” he stared, unable to put the question into words.

Grantaire blinked, ignoring the tears that were coursing down his face. “It’s you,” he said, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear what he had said. “I don’t want to not be able to see you. You’re…you’re my entire world, everything that’s beautiful in my life, and the thought of never being able to see you again, never being able to look into your eyes…God, Enj, that’s the worst thought in this entire world.”

There was a long moment of silence as Enjolras just stared at him, then he stood and crossed to Grantaire, cupping his cheek gently and kissing him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes searching Grantaire’s. “Sorry that this is happening to you, sorry that I’ve been a complete ass and never once asked you what you needed from me. I love you, and I meant what I said before - we are going to get through this.”

“I know,” Grantaire said softly, his voice hoarse from yelling. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. It’s just…this is a lot to be going through right now and the thing that I’ve needed most…is you. Just you.”

Enjolras smoothed his thumb over Grantaire’s cheek. “Can we start over? Try this again?”

Grantaire nodded. “Of course. Just as long as I have you. But first…” He reached up and kissed Enjolras. “I’ve missed you. And we have some catching up to do.”

They worked together after that, Grantaire doing his own research into what life was going to be like for him, and yes, even started learning braille. And he told Enjolras what he needed from him, changes they were going to need to eventually start making.

For his part, Enjolras took the back seat, though he still did research, but more on how to assist someone with blindness. And it was not with the single-minded drive he had used earlier.

Grantaire painted Enjolras every single day while he still could. He told Enjolras, “I want to memorize you, truly, before I lose sight of you forever.” This meant in addition to painting him (in addition to painting him nude several times and insisting that Enjolras model for him), Grantaire spent much of his time kissing, licking and feeling just about every inch of Enjolras.

On one of these days, he was sucking a particularly insistent bloodbruise into Enjolras’s neck as Enjolras bit back a moan. “You realize,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth, “you’ll still be able to do this when you’re blind.”

Grantaire pursed his lips and leaned back. “True enough,” he agreed, but then he grinned wickedly. “But I won’t be able to see you make the face.”

“What face?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire responded by grabbing Enjolras’s cock. “Fuck!” Enjolras swore, bucking into Grantaire’s grip.

“That face,” Grantaire said sweetly, leaning down to kiss Enjolras, slow and heady. Then he said, softly, “You’re lucky in a way, you know. Because I will always remember you like this, young and perfect. That will always be the Enjolras I see. So you’ll never have to worry about aging or going gray or anything like that. Because I will remember you just like this.”

Enjolras smiled, though his eyes looked slightly troubled. “Just like this?” he teased. “With both of us naked and you straddling me?”

Grantaire laughed and kissed Enjolras again. “Like I said, perfect.”

Enjolras ran his hands down Grantaire’s sides, resting them on his hips, expression turning contemplative. “I don’t think that’s unique to the blind, though,” he said softly. “Because I will always remember you the way you are now. When I close my eyes, I will always see you young and smiling and laughing and perfect, too. I think that’s just what love does to people.”

“Mmm,” Grantaire hummed in agreement, rolling off Enjolras to curl up next to him, laying his head against Enjolras’s chest, tracing the planes of his abs with his fingers. “Well, you know what they say: love is blind. And in our case, I guess it really will be.”

“Half-blind,” Enjolras corrected, running his fingers through Grantaire’s curls. “I’m just going to have to be able to see for the both of us. Which is why…” He sat up suddenly, ignoring Grantaire’s whine of protest, and pulled a binder from his nightstand. “I’ve been doing some studying.”

He lay back against his pillow and pulled Grantaire back to him. “Oh really?” Grantaire asked dryly. “What have you been studying this time? More information on how to help blind ol’ me?”

“No,” Enjolras said, kissing Grantaire’s forehead. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been studying art.” He opened the binder to show Grantaire, and Grantaire’s mouth fell open. The binder was full of all kind of information on art, from color names to brush strokes to different eras and famous paintings and techniques. He looked up at Enjolras, who was biting his lip nervously. “I know it won’t be the same,” Enjolras said quickly, “but I figured if I could at least tell you what color something was in a term that wasn’t just red or green, you know—”

Grantaire silenced him by kissing him fiercely, gripping the base of Enjolras’s skull and pulling him down, practically growling with how hungrily he kissed him. When the kiss ended, Grantaire did not release Enjolras, holding him in place so that their foreheads touched. “You are the most amazing, wonderful and supportive man, did you know that?” he said. “With you…I feel like I can get through this.”

Enjolras kissed him, lightly. “That’s because you can. And I will be by your side every step of the way, I promise. In fact…”

He reached over to the nightstand again and Grantaire laughed breathily. “What do you have to show me now? Please don’t tell me you’ve been trying to paint again, because I remember last time and it was not good, Enj.”

“No, you dumbass,” Enjolras huffed, though he was smiling. He handed Grantaire a small black ring box. “Will you marry me?”

Grantaire blinked down at the ring box, opening it with trembling fingers to reveal a plain silver band with a set of raised bumps. He brushed his fingers over them and blinked in surprise. “It says ‘I love you’ in braille,” he whispered, eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Good god, you actually are perfect, aren’t you?”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “Is that a yes, then?”

“I don’t know, are you going to call me a dumbass again?” Grantaire teased, taking the ring from the box and sliding it onto his finger. “Yes, of course yes. Dumbass.”

Laughing, Enjolras bent down and kissed him soundly. Grantaire kissed him back, then asked, “I’m assuming you didn’t plan on proposing while we were nakedly spooning?”

“Nah, there was a whole plan,” Enjolras said off-handedly. “We were going to go to the museum, I was going to reveal my newfound art prowess and then get down on one knee in front of your favorite painting, that van Gogh.”

Grantaire snuggled against him. “Hmm, sounds romantic.”

Enjolras smiled and kissed his forehead. “This was better.”

“It really was,” Grantaire said, holding his hand up so the band could catch the light. “Like I said. Perfect.”


End file.
